What Babe?
by Veritas Found
Summary: The crib was empty.  They told her it was an accident.  She knew it was her fault.   Darkfic.  Character death and psychosis.
1. Prologue: The Crib was Empty

**Title:** What Babe?

**Author:** Veritas Found

**Rating:** T / PG-13 / Teen

**Characters/Pairings:** Sarah Williams

**Summary:** The crib was empty. They told her it was an accident. She knew it was her fault.

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Author's Notes/Warnings:** Darkfic (to a degree). Unbeta'd, as it's more just a freelancey experiment and not something I'm considering 'official'. About two years post-movie, making Sarah seventeen. Character death and psychosis; proceed with caution. An experiment that I have absolutely no excuse for; those who know me know my obsession with mindfuckery. Nothing more than that. Promise you'll keep the pickaxes away 'til the end?

**What Babe?**

**Prologue: The Crib was Empty**

The crib was empty.

Though she could take so much from that room, that one fact remained obvious above all else – like thick molasses, coating her tongue and choking her with its presence. The lights flickered occasionally with the storm, but the room was light enough; the night was stormy, and the crib…

"_My will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom as –" the words don't leave her lips, catching and dying in her throat as he holds up a hand._

"_Stop!" he hisses, and she's confused enough that she does. It's her moment; she's beaten him, and now comes the speech where she tells him so. Why would he stop her? This is how the story goes. This is how it's done._

_His smile is sinister._

"_You will is as strong, oh, yes, precious thing," he says, voice silky and sweet like too much melted chocolate. "But you're forgetting one crucial point. The game changer."_

_She watches him, afraid to ask what but afraid to back down all the same. The clock appears behind him, and the fear recoils into a lead weight that drops with a sickening _plop_ into the pit of her stomach._

_Thirteen-oh-one._

"_You're too late, Sarah," he coos, his voice right beside her ear and triggering shivers down her spine. "And now your precious brother is mine. Forever."_

The crib was empty.

The storm still raged outside; she could still feel his cruel eyes on her. The eyes that had watched her snivel and beg after she had so callously wished her brother away; the eyes that had mocked her as the clock told the horrible truth of the matter.

One minute.

One minute had destroyed her world.

And now the crib was…

"_But…no! That's not fair!" she cries, eyes widening in panic and terror as she takes in the time. She looks back to the Goblin King, his smile sadistic and mocking. "I made it to the castle in time – I found you _and_ Toby in time! I was here! I made it!"_

"_Are you so certain, precious thing?" he asks, circling her like a great jungle cat. And she's the little gazelle, the weakest of her herd just waiting to be devoured. He's won. He's…_

"_I won, Goblin King. I beat you. Give me back my brother!" she demands, and he stops before her, reaching out to lay gloved fingers against her cheeks._

"_You are late, precious Sarah, and now little Toby is mine. What's done is done," he says, dipping his head closer to her own. "You. Have. Lost."_

"_No! I was here!" she cries, her eyes widening as his head draws closer. "This…this isn't right! This isn't how it goes – I beat you! I won! I…I…"_

"_Mine," he whispers, breath slithering over her face and carrying those cruel words with it. "You were too late, precious thing, and now he's mine. Forever."_

She was too late, too slow. She couldn't save him. She couldn't…and then they had come home to find her standing over the empty crib, shaking and crying and…

They hadn't blamed her. "It was an accident," they had said. They had hurt, they were still hurt, but they had never once blamed her.

Jareth hadn't even…

"_And that's it? I just lose? I forget everything?" she asks, her voice dead, and his chuckle is like acid._

"_Oh, no – where would the fun in that be? No, Sarah, you've won the right to keep your memories. You ran my Labyrinth, and you have defeated it – the very first," he says, but somehow it doesn't seem like a victory. "You should get something for the effort. Your memories seem like a…_fair_ consolation prize, don't you think?"_

But they weren't what she'd wanted.

She wanted Toby.

She wanted to know he was safe and well, back in the crib – _empty_ – or Irene's arms or…she didn't want this.

His gaze felt like a snake, writhing against her as it crawled over her body. She could still feel it, as if he were still watching her, as if…

"_Unless you wish to forget?" he purrs, and her throat closes. "You just have to say the right words, Sarah. One tiny little wish…"_

"_No," she chokes. Never again. She will never make another wish, not even in passing or jest. She won't._

"_Perhaps a trade, then? Toby for…you?" his face is so close his lips brush her skin with every word. She feels disgusted. She hesitates, just long enough, and he sighs. The breath burns against her. "No, I thought not. Such a pity."_

_He's backing away then, and her body is shaking. Fear of him and her parents' reaction. Revulsion of herself and him. Loathing. Such strong, strong loathing._

"_Go home, Sarah," he says. He sounds defeated somehow. "Go home, and live your happy little life with your happy little family. Go home."_

"We're home," the call came from downstairs, so far off. She shouldn't be in the room. No one came into the room anymore, not since…she shouldn't be there, but she was too afraid to run. Too…too…she didn't know what.

"Sarah…" the voice was low, pleading, and so full of sorrow that it physically hurt to hear – but she did hear, and fear gripped her with it. She turned, slowly, her eyes widening as they landed on the vanity mirror behind her.

The Goblin King.

And yet…he was not as she remembered. Gone were the cruel eyes, the haughty smirk; he looked…sad. Achingly so. His hair even seemed to droop with it; his clothes were simple instead of the gaudy finery he usually preferred. And his eyes, those terrible mismatched eyes…their edges crinkled with his frown, glistened with what almost looked like unshed tears, called out to her in a way that terrified her.

He had won, hadn't he? So why did he look like it was killing him? Why wasn't he holding Toby, waving a little arm to mock her with…

"…_you have no power over me," she says, her eyes wide in revelation and remembrance. The one phrase is enough to turn his world, shatter it, and he looks as if she's just grabbed his heart bare-fisted and ripped it from his chest. The cape is falling, he is falling, and the world is flipped upside-down or rightside-up and she…she…_

_She's won. Toby is safe. Toby is upstairs, in his crib – she can see him. And the owl is gone, the Goblin King defeated, and she's…_

She screamed, pain and confusion twisting her mind as she lashes out at the mirror. The Goblin King didn't even have the decency to look startled; he simply watched her with those aching, ancient eyes, the look on his face making her think he wanted nothing more than to hold her. Comfort her.

But for what?

The voices below were suddenly hushed before they picked up again in frantic whispers. She barely heard the pounding of feet on the steps amid the tinkling, clinking glass – shards falling to the floor, cutting into her hands and knees, reflecting those horribly sympathetic eyes that cut her worse than the glass ever could. She was barely aware of the door crashing open, of the screams, of the arms that scooped her up, or the chest she curled against in an attempt to escape those eyes.

She refused to look at the crib.

The crib, after all, was empty.


	2. One: In the Vents

**What Babe?**

**One: In the Vents**

"She in there?"

"Yeah, yeah! Lady in there?"

"Shhhhh – stupids! Remember what Kinga said!"

"King said check up on Lady."

"King said don't get _caught_."

"King said we gets bogged if we gets caught."

"King scary."

"King –"

"Shut up 'fores _I_ bog you, stupids!"

Her eyes scrunch closed as the tiny voices – three of them – press in closer, grow louder. There's a _skritcha-skritcha-skracthing_ in the vents above her, one that makes her skin crawl as they must crawl through the ceilings. She knows they're there. She knows, and she hopes he bogs every last one of them for it.

"Sarah?"

An eye cracks open, her unwilling gaze sliding from the door, along the wall with the pictures so falsely cheery they make her stomach churn, finally landing on the Woman with the mousey hair and over-starched pencil skirt. Dark stockings. Shiny loafers that click-click-click against the linoleum. Flowy yellow blouse, the kind she used to love before they said what she could and could not wear. Large wire glasses that cover observant brown eyes.

She doesn't respond. She rarely does.

"Sarah, can you hear them again?" the Woman asks. Her eyes slide up to the vent set between them, where the scuffling has stopped and shadows play in the cracks. She sees a glint – a helmet, perhaps, or a colander the tiny creature thought was one.

"Poor lady."

"Looks sad."

"When she coming home? Miss Lady."

"Kinga miss her, too."

She screws her eyes shut, grits her teeth, and curls tighter in on herself. Her bare toes curl around the edge of the plastic chair, and her arms hug her knees.

"How have you been sleeping, Sarah?" the Woman asks, and she barely raises her head to peek out over the baggy sleeve covering her arm. Too thin, Irene had said last they visited. That was too many too thins ago. "Charlie tells me the medicine has been helping."

It doesn't. It makes her sleep more, makes her remember more, and she relives it over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over every night. She hates them for it. She hates him for it. She hates herself for it.

"Sarah," the Woman sighs, tucking the pen in her chart and reaching up to remove her glasses. She looks tired, she thinks. Worn. Frustrated. Like… "Sarah, I can't help you if you won't talk to me. Why won't you tell me about the dreams, Sarah? Charlie says you're still waking up screaming. That you still cry in your sleep. What do you dream about, Sarah?"

_The laughter sounded like a scream when she twirled, looking like a wild creature as she danced among the goblins. They tittered and cheered, laughing with her and racing along the backyard. In the branches of the tree she saw the owl, watching with what looked like amusement – only that owl, the owl that wasn't, could look amused, she thought. She waved, blew him a kiss; his feathers ruffled, his head shaking before looking away._

_The little goblin on her shoulder cheered as Hoggle raced through the others; it was a game they liked to play, where instead of a baby it was a princess that needed rescuing, and they always had their Lady play their princess. They took turns as the brave hero, and once even his Majesty had stepped in to rescue her._

_More often than not their games were for their own amusement, but Toby was always on the sidelines, smiling and laughing at their goblin friends. Most days she still had trouble believing they'd come to this point, where she felt Toby could be no safer than when with the goblins and where the Goblin King – Jareth – was…was…_

_She stopped mid-twirl, eyes widening as they landed on the empty blanket._

_Toby?_

She hates Charlie. Hates him with everything she has, the dirty rotten tattler. He tries to say he's her friend, that he wants to help, but he gives her the pills and then tells the Woman when they make her remember. She wishes…

The thought turns her blood to ice that sluggishly draws to a halt in her veins. The words die before the thought can complete – she won't let it. She'll never utter those words again. Not after the last time. Not after she…not after he…

"_Forget about the baby, Sarah," he said._

"_But I can't," she whispered, shaking. "How could I?"_

"_You've lost him," his words lanced through her, sharp and unforgiving. She realized his hands were on her arms again. He seemed awfully preoccupied with touching her, that time 'round._

…_that time?_

"_I can take the memories, precious thing. Just say the right words. One wish," he said, voice ghosting over her ear. She shivered. Was that what she wanted? To forget?_

"_No," she choked on the words. "You can't…I beat you! I made it in time! You have to give him back!"_

"_Why, precious thing?" he asked. He was so close she could feel his lips curl into a smirk against her ear. "Because I have no power over you?"_

They are whispering, tittering again. She glances at the vent, and the Woman sighs.

"Sarah, you were doing so well. You know there's no such thing as goblins," she says, and when she looks back at her she's surprised to find her hand is on her arm. She feels so numb. She doesn't feel the sturdy grip she knows she must have on her. "Say it with me, Sarah. 'There are no such things as goblins.' There are no goblins in the vents, in the halls, in your room, or anywhere in this hospital. You are safe, and they cannot hurt you because they are not real. Say it with me, Sarah. 'There are no such things as goblins.'"

But there are, and she's not because they can. So easy to get her, to take everything she holds dear. A handful of words, carelessly tossed out – and then it's too late. Goblin King, Goblin King, wherever you may be…

"…take this memory of mine far away from me."


	3. Two: It Wasn't and Then it Was

**What Babe?**

**Two: It Wasn't and Then it Was**

He tried to visit her once.

He came looking so human, so normal, that at first she didn't know what to think. It had scared her, first because it wasn't him and then because it was. He shouldn't have been there. He shouldn't have come.

And yet…he hadn't been the same. Despite the glamour that made him appear human, there was something in those eyes – eyes that would always be mismatched, no matter what spell altered the rest of his appearance. He seemed…defeated. And not in the A-Bratty-Fifteen-Year-Old-Girl-Just-Beat-My-Labyrinth sense. He had seemed broken.

The part of her mind that registered that was small, beaten back, and crying out to her. _Hug him. Tell him it's not his fault. Tell him you don't blame him. Tell him you're sorry. Tell him…_

…but why? It was his fault, and she did blame him. She blamed them both.

Charlie had grabbed her and pulled her back, and it was only then that she realized she had been screaming. She had been running towards him. Charlie later told her she'd had murder in her eyes.

"_Woah – woah! Sarah, calm down! Sarah! Sarah!" Charlie screams, grabbing her 'round the middle and pulling her back. Jareth's eyes have widened, and he takes a step back as hurt flashes across his human – why does he look _human?_ – face. She screams louder, hollering bloody murder as she claws through the air. It's his fault! It's his fault! He didn't…he should have…he wouldn't…_

"_You bastard!" she screams. "Bastard, bastard, bastard! Give him back! Give him back!"_

"_Sarah!" Charlie screams, shaking her roughly. There's a look of anger that flashes across Jareth's face; but is it at her, for this blatant show of disrespect, or at Charlie, for manhandling her? "Sarah, relax! It's your cousin – remember Jay, your cousin? He's just here to check up on you. It's ok, Sarah. He won't –"_

_But she screams louder, kicking out and trying to dislodge the orderly. No, no, no – it's not 'Jay', her cousin. She has no cousin 'Jay'. It's Jar…it's that damned Goblin King, the one who stole her brother, and why won't he give him _back_, damn it?_

"_Sarah…" the Goblin King's voice is so much softer than she's ever heard it before – is it? No, no, no…she's heard that tone before. She's heard…heard…NO. He's lying, a trick, another drugged peach and GIVE HIM BACK –_

One of the other Men had slipped in at some point, jabbing a needle into her arm and shooting her up with something or other that had made her so tired. She'd collapsed in Charlie's arms, and she remembered wanting to scream when the Goblin King had stalked forward, picked her up, and offered to carry her back to her room. Charlie had told her he'd said no, but her 'cousin' hadn't listened. Wouldn't let her go. Wouldn't…

_He's warm, so warm, and it's bliss. She's been so cold for so long, so hollow and scared, and suddenly he's there again and she feels safe._

"_You came back," she whispers groggily, her hand fisting in the loose button-down he's donned. It's scratchy and not as nice as his silk shirts, but he has to blend in to avoid suspicion. "Missed you."_

"_Sarah mine," he whispers, and she feels his lips brush against her forehead. "You only ever had to call. You made me leave."_

"_M'sorry," she mumbles, pressing closer to his chest. So soft, so warm…so home. Why did he ever go away? "Not your…don't blame you. Wan' go…home…"_

"_I'm sorry, man," she barely hears Charlie say. "She hasn't been doing so well. I was hoping, when you showed up, seeing a family member would help her along. I didn't think she'd freak out on you."_

His touch had burned her where those bare hands had held her skin. She had felt dirty, violated – why had he touched her? Why had he come to her at all? To torture her? To rub in her face how she'd failed?

Wasn't it good enough that he'd taken Toby? Wasn't it…

He didn't visit her again after that.

She didn't blame him.


	4. Three: Must Not, Must Not

**Notes:** I am perfectly aware that this is, ideally, set in 1988 and the song used was not recorded until 1989 – '92 if you're not a hardcore fan. I'm taking creative liberties; and if that doesn't work…TARDIS? (Song used is the Gin Blossom's "Lost Horizons". The poem is Christina Rossetti's "Goblin Market". (Which, granted, may be a bit overused in this fandom, but it's still one of my favorites.))

**What Babe?**

**Three: Must Not, Must Not**

Normally, there, they don't get music. It's encouraged against, because the Men and Women don't know how it will affect the Others.

Those rules don't necessarily apply to their lunch breaks, however, so when Charlie finds her curled up on a stone bench in the garden ('It's not sparkly enough,' her mind bites) she's not entirely surprised to find the headphones on his head. He smiles and sits down next to her, asking her how her morning's been. He comments about the night that's passed since they last spoke, and she barely listens. Her eyes are narrowed on the walkman in his hands, and after a moment he seems to notice.

"Oh, this? You want to listen, Sarah?" he asks, and she glances up to see a warm smile on his face. "I don't think the docs will mind too much. Jay told me you like music."

Jay…

"_Sing for me?" she asked, looking up at him with pleading eyes. He scoffed and looked away, as if the very idea was demeaning. She could see the teasing glint in his mismatched eyes, though, and her smile grew as she cuddled closer to him. "Please, Jareth? Sing for me?"_

"_Whatever would I sing for you, precious thing?" he asked, arms snaking around her to wrap about her middle. She sighed and looked up, smiling at the summer stars. Toby was sleeping peacefully in his crib, and she could hear his deep breathing from where they were curled on the window seat._

"_Something, anything. I don't really care. I just like it when you sing," she said. She grinned up at him, cheekily. "And I know you like to sing, sooo…"_

"_What shall I sing you, Sarah mine? Shall I sing you of how I'd hold you when the world falls down?" he asked, and she shivered in his arms._

"_That won't happen," she said, firmly. She turned in his arms, looking up at him. It was so strange, thinking of where they started and now…she couldn't imagine him being a villain. She loved him, as much as her teenaged heart knew how, and he… "Everything's perfect, and it's going to stay perfect. And even if it doesn't –"_

"_I'll hold you, precious thing, as the world falls down," he murmured, the old song covering her like a caress._

Her head snaps away, but a glance out of her eye shows that Charlie is still smiling as he removes the headphones.

"It's this new group, really obscure but pretty good. I think you'll like 'em," he says, and the music has a rocky hint to it that puts her on edge. Not quite the same, but close enough to…

"_**She had nothing left to say, so she said she loved me. I stood there grateful for the lie…"**_

Her skin prickles, like that old tingle when magic was swirling through the air. Like…like…

"Want some?" Charlie asks, holding his Coke out to her. She glances at him, unsure, but his smile is friendly and she warily takes a sip. When it doesn't hurt her, she takes another. He laughs and shakes his head. "Man, Sarah, I don't get you. You seem like you could be fine most days, if not a little withdrawn. You don't seem like you should be in this place."

He looks across the garden and nods to Mrs. Smithson, who's dancing with an invisible partner. He says, "Her? She should be here. Sweet lady nearly walked into speeding traffic last time she was out. But you? I don't get you, Sarah. It's like you could get better if you wanted, but you just don't. And that goblin delusion? You know those things ain't real, girl."

"_**Maybe I could use you to reassure myself – I wouldn't wish this indecision on anybody else…"**_

"But they are," she says, and Charlie jumps. It's the first time she's spoken to him since…

"_You're _strutting!_" she laughed, clapping as he pivoted to face her. His grin was wolfish, and she squealed as he dove for her. He knocked her back onto the bed, looking down at her as if he was starving and wanted nothing more than to devour her._

"_I, precious thing, do not _strut_," he said, his voice low and dangerous. She laughed breathlessly, her chest rising and falling with each heavy inhale._

"_You don't? That looked a lot like strutting to me. Or perhaps we should allow your flair for the dramatic and call you a peacock – then you'd be preening," she sing-songed the last word, and he growled. He dipped his head, and her squeal was silenced by his lips in a_

"_**I drink enough of anything to make this world look new again. And when sin smiles, how could it be wrong?"**_

"They're real," she says, more to block out the memories – no, no, no, they can't be. Not memories. Not…no. Peaches. More peach dreams, illusions planted in her mind to make her forget what's important.

That wasn't how it happened, _Jay_ wasn't some fairytale king hero, and Toby…

"Sarah, how do you –" Charlie tries to ask, but she shakes her head.

"They're real, and they took my brother," she says, her voice firm. That's all he needs to know, really. "'We must not look at goblin men, we must not buy their fruits…'"

"_**The last horizons I can see I now resigned to memories. I never thought I'd still be here today…"**_

"Sarah?" Charlie asks, reaching to touch her arm, but the songs of peach dreams are swirling with the song on his walkman and those vicious, vicious fake memories and…and…

"We _must not_ look at goblin men, we _must not_ buy their fruits…we _must not_ look at goblin men, we _must not_ buy their fruits…must not buy their fruits, must not…must not…" she gasps, her hands coming to clamp around her ears as she falls forward off the bench. She curls in on herself and screams, screams, screams…turn it off, turn it off, no, please, no music…no, no, no…

Why would she want him to sing for her? No, no, no, not real – never real. Must not look at goblin men, must not buy their fruits…

"_**I drink enough of anything to make myself look new again. Drunk, drunk, drunk in the gardens and the graves…"**_


	5. Four: Dream a Little Dream

**Note:** I seriously went over-length in this chapter, compared to others, but there's method behind my madness. If you've stuck around this long, I'm hoping you won't mind. Also, I apologize that it came later this weekend; the editing took a bit longer, and the update caught me in the middle of the first round of exams/papers.

**What Babe?**

**Four: Dream a Little Dream**

She dreams.

_Her friends had left hours ago, but she was still wide awake. She blamed the adrenaline; that had to be it. That was the only thing that would cause her to still be so wired so many hours after returning Above. Her body was buzzing, thrumming with the residual feeling of the _other_ from down Underground. It coursed through her, making her jumpy and eager for…what?_

_She stood by her window, a silent sentry looking out into the night. She was still in her poet's shirt and jeans, still dressed as if she would be racing out the door any minute. The window was thrown open; the outside still held the scent of rain drifting up from the grass. She heard it trickling in the drain that ran the length of roof above her window. She wrung her hands and scanned the sky, desperately searching for…what?_

_Her gaze drifted down to the tree outside her room, to the twisting branches casting a dark relief against the star-specked night. Her breath caught when her eyes landed on the ghostly owl sitting among those black limbs, his golden eyes piercing as they stayed focused on her. She stumbled back a step; she had seen this owl before, twice earlier that night._

_When the doors burst open and he'd swooped in, just before the burst of glitter that had revealed his true form._

_When she'd come to in the foyer to the resounding chimes of thirteen o'clock, as he'd flown circles about her before she'd raced upstairs to check on her boon._

_And now she was seeing him again, right outside her bedroom window. It took a moment for her to bolster her courage, but she quickly regained that step and stood before him proud and defiant, a true Champion of his Labyrinth._

"_Goblin King," she said, voice steady and firm, as commanding as his presence. The owl didn't even blink; he merely tilted his head and hooted softly. She stepped closer to the window and gripped the sill. "Why are you here?"_

_He hooted again, and her fists tightened on the sill. Her words were acidic as she bit out, "You know I don't speak owl."_

_She gasped and stumbled back again as he suddenly flew at her, a sudden storm of wind and glitter that whipped about her violently. When it cleared he stood before her, yet he was devoid of any imposing glory he had held earlier that night. Gone was the haughty smirk, the air of confidence. In its place was…_

_She did not know this Goblin King, and truthfully he scared her more than her villain ever could._

_He was dressed simply in a white poet's shirt with a gaping neckline that displayed his medallion; a black vest was fit over it. His breeches were gray and still sinfully tight, tucked into tall black riding boots. His hair was still fluffed, yet it seemed to droop. Truly, what was most striking about this Goblin King was his face, eyes. He looked haunted, defeated…powerless._

_Surely she could not have done this to him? Surely this was not her fault?_

"_Goblin King?" she finally asked tentatively. He did not answer; he merely watched her with those mismatched, haunted and haunting eyes. She swallowed thickly. "Jareth?"_

_He hissed as if in pain and leapt forward, catching her shoulder and clamping a hand over her mouth as something feral seemed to overtake him. His lips curled back to reveal teeth that seemed much sharper than they should, and he bit out, "Don't!" She mumbled against his hand, and she could feel every muscle under his skin tighten._

"_Don't say my name," he hissed at her, eyes narrowed and violent. "Do not say my name as if we are familiars. As if you cared a bit about the chaos you've wreaked. As if…no, do not say my name, little thing."_

_She grabbed his wrist and tore his hand from her face, her eyes sparking in her ire. She grappled with the urge to slap him and settled for squeezing his wrist as hard as she could. His eyes narrowed, a clear warning of the dangerous ground she tread, but she refused to bend to his will. Hers was just as great, after all._

"_What is wrong with you?" she demanded, flinging his hand to his side in frustration. "You just show up here without any reason and proceed to snap on me because I say your name? What are you, five?"_

"_So stubborn, so insubordinate…" he mused, reaching up to brush his fingers against her cheek. "Tell me, precious thing, why do you insist on defying me?"_

"_What?" she asked, her breath hitching at the caress. He was being so blasted mercurial, and it was unsettling to say the least._

"_You made a mockery of my Labyrinth, turned my own subjects against me, refused me, reduced my kingdom to ruins…tell me, Sarah, what more can you take? What more could you possibly want?" he asked, eyes glinting like sharpened steel. "Have I not been generous enough?"_

"_What are you talking about? You're the one who came here, Goblin King! I didn't ask for you to show up and hang out in my tree!" she snapped, and his hand was cupping her face again as he smiled a dangerous, feline sort of smile. It was the sort of smile that brought to mind poisoned crowns and dragon-led chariots, and a chill coursed down her spine at its implications._

"_Oh, yes, you did," he whispered. "Even after rejecting me, after bringing my subjects to you for your paltry celebration, you still call me to you. Don't you remember, Sarah mine? That fleeting thought that passed through your mind as you made merry with your _friends_?"_

_He spat the word as if it was poison._

_As if he were…jealous._

"_You wished for my presence, for the only one from your adventure who was not present," he hissed. "You refuse me yet still wish for me! How selfish –"_

"_I was worried, ok?" she shouted over him, and while he froze in shock at her words she froze at the creak in the hall, the gentle tap on her door._

"_Sarah? Are you all right, sweetheart?" her father called, and she swallowed thickly._

"_Fine, Dad! Just a stupid owl that crashed into my window – go back to bed, ok?" she called. She breathed a relieved sigh a moment later as she heard him walking back down the hall. For once she was grateful for Robert Williams' dismissive personality. She turned fierce eyes back onto the Goblin King. Her gaze softened at the confusion she saw painted on his face, and she looked away as if she were ashamed of herself. Ashamed of her concern._

"_I was worried about you. You just…melted, like the Wicked Witch of the West or something, and Hoggle wouldn't talk about you. I was afraid…" she swallowed thickly and refused to finish the thought. He was her villain, after all. He wasn't the debonair king she had fantasized over in the park, the storybook character of her youth. He was a baby-snatching, pain-inflicting, bog-threatening brute who…_

"_Sarah mine," he whispered, his breath ghosting over her face in a tender caress. Something stirred within her, something frightening she couldn't quite yet understand. "You understood what I offered, yes?"_

"_My dreams," she whispered, and when she looked back she noticed he was shaking his head. She frowned and considered. "…your dreams."_

"'_But what no one knew was that the king had fallen in love with the girl,'" he recited, drawing his fingers across her cheek to catch her hair and tuck it behind her ear. "I offered you my kingdom, Sarah mine, in hopes that you would willingly rule it by my side. Fear me. Love me. Do as I say…"_

"_But I…no, you can't…I'm only fifteen!" she whispered in a near yelp, and his smile softened._

"_Old enough in some parts of the world and in older times," he quipped, and at her startled look he amended his stance. "But I will wait, Sarah. Forever if needs be. It's not that long at all."_

"_Why?" she asked. She was so confused, and he wasn't helping any with how close he was standing. Had his face been that near a moment ago? "You took my brother. Why should I –"_

"_I always intended to give him back, precious thing," he said. "But there are certain rules that even I must follow, you see. Even when you are concerned. Do you not see, Sarah? I have watched you for so long…"_

"_The owl in the park," she gasped, and his smile was fond._

"_Oh, so long…I have watched you, and I have loved you, and I have waited day after day for you to grant me access to your life," his lips were ghosting over her own with every word, begging permission for something she was afraid of giving. "Only for you to spite me at every turn, painting me the infernal villain and rejecting everything I would have be yours…"_

"_Jareth…" she whispered, and he pulled back slightly to watch her with steady eyes._

"_Will you give me a chance, Sarah Williams?" he asked, begged. "Will you let me prove I am not the villain you believe, that I am simply a king – a man – who has fallen in love with the fair princess? Will you grant me the chance of capturing your heart as surely as you've captured mine?"_

"_Yes," she breathed, and the words had barely left her lips before he'd swallowed them, claimed them as his very own. She was pressed against him, held possessively as if she was the most valuable thing in the world and he was…he was…_

Not all the time.

"_Sarah! There's someone here to see you!"_

_She groaned at hearing her stepmother's voice from downstairs. She pushed her chair back and dropped her pencil, knowing she wouldn't get any of her math homework done until Irene had been satisfied. More than likely the 'someone' was just another request to babysit Toby, and while she didn't mind as much as she once had (ok, at all), it would still be nice of Irene to actually _ask_ first. Her thoughts were still grumbling when she reached the first landing on the stairs, and she almost missed the step when her eyes fell on the 'someone' by the door._

_Jareth stood by Irene, looking…normal, by Above standards. He wore black slacks and a cream-colored, high-necked sweater. A black jacket covered the sweater, his hands were casually placed in his trouser pockets, and shiny black shoes covered his feet. His hair was slicked back into a low ponytail, and overall he looked very…presentable. His head had turned as she stepped onto the landing, and she noticed a twinkle of mischief in his eyes when she caught his gaze. It was that twinkle that prompted her to speak first, without any preamble or – in Irene's opinion – sense of propriety._

"_What are you doing here?" she asked, and despite Irene's scolding gasp of her name Jareth merely chuckled._

"_My dear," he said, walking over to the bottom landing of the stairwell and pausing by the rail, "did you forget our plans for the evening?"_

"_Sarah, why didn't you say anything when I asked you to babysit earlier? If I had known you had a date tonight I would have asked Kitty," Irene said, causing Sarah to gape at her; Irene hadn't breathed a word about needing a sitter that night. In fact, when Sarah had come home that day claiming a big math test on Monday she needed to study for, Irene had said she'd be left alone all weekend. Irene smiled warmly and waved her off, a disconcerting change for the woman. True, in the month since her Labyrinth run she'd been trying to be less hostile towards her, but things had still been strained; that much animosity didn't just disappear overnight. Irene was already walking into the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, "You go get ready – I'll phone her now and see if she's available."_

_As soon as she was gone, Sarah jumped to the step above Jareth and grabbed his hand. His eyes were still dancing as she asked, "Ok, really. What are you doing here?"_

"_Sarah, Sarah, Sarah, can a man not take his intended out for a meal? I thought that was the custom Above, this 'dating' thing you've…" he paused as he caught the guilty shift of her eyes, and he sighed. "…not told your parents a thing about."_

"_It's not exactly…I mean, you don't just tell your parents you're dating an Underground king. 'Hey, dad, this is my boyfriend the Goblin King. He's Fae and a couple millennia older than me, but I'm sure you'll get along just great and'…how did Irene not freak out about how old you look, anyway?" she asked, shooting a suspicious glance his way._

"_Are you implying I don't wear my age well?" he asked, lifting an imperious brow. She slapped his shoulder and rolled her eyes._

"_That's not what I meant, and you know it," she said, and her breath hitched as his arm snaked around her waist, pressing her close to him. The step almost leveled their heights, and her traitorous mind couldn't help thinking how easy it would be to kiss him like this._

"_Yes, we both know how…appealing you find me," he said, grinning. He glanced to the doorway of the kitchen before quickly pressing his lips to hers. It was a brief kiss, hardly one at all, really, but it still loosed the butterflies in her stomach. "And to answer your question, it's a simple glamour. You know me, so I will appear the same to you – but to your parents, I merely look like a classmate. I'm aware of your culture's standards, precious thing. While my age – both literal and how I physically appear – would be no issue in the Underground, I know your parents most likely would not take kindly."_

"_Late-twenties, early-thirties – not that old at all," she protested, and he grinned._

"_Your father would truly wish you seeing someone at least a decade older than you?" he asked, and she winced._

"_Ok, maybe not," she said. She placed a hand against his cheek, smiling as he leaned into her touch. "I can't believe you did this for me."_

"_I did not wish to cause trouble for you, Sarah. Deceiving your parents…when the time comes for me to take you away, I want it to happen as smoothly as possible. Call me old-fashioned, precious, but their blessing would be greatly appreciated. I refuse to erase you from their lives, and I don't want to have to kidnap you," he explained, and she snorted._

"_It wouldn't be kid-" she started, but he silenced her with another quick kiss._

"_To them, it would be," he said. "Even if you were to come willingly, I would merely be the villain abducting their eldest child."_

"_Sarah?" Irene called from the kitchen moments before she walked through the doorway; any protests she might have made against his statement were swept away with her stepmother's appearance. Jareth quickly released her, and she had to place a hand on his shoulder to maintain her balance. A knowing smile quirked Irene's lips, but she didn't comment. "Kitty said it won't be a problem – why are you still down here? Go get ready!"_

_Sarah caught the smirk Jareth shot her way before she nodded and raced back up the steps. She was nearly to her door as she heard Irene ask, "So, Jay, how did you say you met Sarah again?"_

But sometimes…

"_He's so good with Toby," Irene whispered, leaning in to keep the conversation from the prying ears of her yenta aunts. Sarah paused mid-sip and looked over to the playpen her cousins had set up for the toddlers and younger. Jareth, looking rather sharp in a black suit and light green oxford, was kneeling by the gate and amusing (showing off, more likely) her baby brother with a crystal. Toby was laughing, clapping his hands excitedly as he stood in the center of a gaggle of three-and-youngers. Jareth glanced over, catching her eye and smiling warmly at her, and she nodded as she sipped her drink. Irene laughed at the silent exchange. "Oh, you two. It hasn't even been a year yet, and you act like you've been married for ages!"_

_She nearly choked on her drink at that, but it didn't really surprise her. Jareth had made his intentions all too clear – at least to her – and she knew it was only a matter of time. Her lips quirked at the thought; knowing him, he'd be whisking her off as soon as she was eighteen with no thought of waiting for her to finish college. Then again, they did have forever, and – as he was always saying – it wasn't that long at all…_

"_That's a good sign, though," she heard Irene say, and it brought her back to the conversation. She raised a brow, and Irene nodded back to the playpen. "He's obviously good with children. That's a good sign that he'll be a good father."_

_She did choke this time, her face flaming red, and Irene's eyebrows soared as she said, "Oh, come now, Sarah! You've had to have thought about it?"_

_Her mouth hung open, words struggling and failing to come out. She had, yes, but that was still years away – and Jareth had already said that once she was Underground she would become Fae as well, and Fae didn't always have the easiest of times reproducing. Their own children, as far as she had been concerned, were a possibility that she wanted but, for now, might not happen for a while yet. Her jaw snapped shut, and she took a steadying breath before answering, "I've…thought about it, sure. Who doesn't? But it's not like it's an option yet, Irene. I…_we_ still have to finish school!"_

"_Oh, of course, dear – but it's always fun to fantasize. Oh, you two would have gorgeous children," Irene sighed, missing her near-slip. She shook her head, hiding her smile behind another sip of her drink. She jumped and choked on that sip as Jareth sat down next to her and Irene said, "Oh, Jay, we were just talking about you!"_

"_Oh, really?" he asked, the twinkle of his eye letting her know he had probably heard the whole thing. He rubbed her back, patting gently as she continued to cough. "Are you all right, precious?"_

"_F-fine," she gasped, and he chuckled as he placed a swift kiss on her cheek. He perked up as the rowdy dance music shifted to a slower beat, and he stood and extended a hand towards her._

"_Come, Sarah," he said, grinning widely at her. "I fully intend to dance with you before the evening is spent."_

"_He even dances," Irene sighed, leaning back in her chair and glancing wistfully over to her own husband, who was chatting with his brother and some other men by the bar. "Sarah, where on Earth did you find this boy?"_

"_Underground," she quipped, and Jareth laughed boisterously as she took his hand and he pulled her to her feet. "Just one dance, Jareth."_

_She lifted the skirt of her bridesmaid's dress and showed him the heels her cousin had forced them all to wear. He gave her that mischievous smirk she loved so much and waved his hand as if her feet's comfort meant nothing, nothing, tra-la-la. Her eyes widened as she looked down at her feet to find he'd replaced the heels with comfortable flats. He nodded a farewell to Irene before he escorted her out to the dance floor._

"_I did not escort you to this mortal wedding for _one dance_, Sarah mine," he said as he swept her up in his arms. She rolled her eyes as she rested her head on his chest, thankful for the slow song._

"_Yeah, yeah – you'll dance-magic-dance me all around this floor, won't you?" she quipped, and his laugh was soft._

"_In case you hadn't noticed, I'm rather fond of dancing with you, precious," he said, pressing a lingering kiss to her temple. "I'd be quite content to dance with you like this for the rest of the evening, Sarah mine – for the rest of forever, for that matter. After all, it's not that long at all…"_

…she dreams.


	6. Five: Already Fallen

**Note:** I am so sorry for the missed update. I'm editing this on the ride home for Fall Break; I have not had room to breathe since last Tuesday. Midterms were before break, and I've been running nonstop even on break. (I swear, the logic was not "longer chapter counts as two updates" – it's been life!slam.)

**What Babe?**

**Five: Already Fallen**

It was a slow process, the fractures splintering out like so many cracks in the ice.

"_I think I'm losing my mind," she whispers in the quiet, in the dark, and for a moment the tightening of his arms on her waist is the only thing anchoring her to this – to any – world. He doesn't speak, but he's there. That's enough for her. For now. "I know what happened, but sometimes…sometimes it's like I'm in the park again, playing my games of make-believe and pretend. Sometimes it's easier to paint the story different."_

Losing one's mind wasn't always a quick thing, after all. It wasn't always clean and precise, a distinct shattering at one point in time you could point to and say: "There, right there, is when the Bad Thing happened."

"_But I blame you, don't I?" she asks, her voice hushed and oh so terrified. "I…I yelled at you earlier, didn't I? I remember yelling. I was confused. I know what happened, but I couldn't think straight. It was easier to blame you, and I did. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry…"_

Losing one's mind was, more often than not, a slow deterioration. The blood spreading, the tiny cracks creaking further and further the longer you stood on the ice. One move and it would all shatter; you would fall through to the frigid water below – but if you stayed, if you didn't move, soon enough the cracks would meet and break off all their own, all the same.

Most days she couldn't remember which option she had chosen. Most days just bled together anyway.

"_You're not losing your mind, precious," he finally whispers, and his voice sounds as scared as her own. It's a long moment before he can speak again. "…you're just grieving. It's to be expected."_

"_I'm scared," she admits, curling in closer to him. His medallion pokes her spine, but the pain is a pleasant reminder that she's still rooted and so she does not mind. "I'm scared one day I won't wake up, or I will and will only remember you as the villain. I'm scared of leaving you. I'm scared it's already happened."_

"_You won't leave me, Sarah," he says; his voice is suddenly firm, commanding – the voice of the king he is. "You won't. I refuse to let you go again. I'll hold you, precious, remember? As the world falls down, I'll hold you."_

"_Jareth," she whispers, reaching up a hand to lay against his cheek. Her skin is pale, and her touch is light; the whisper of the ghost she's becoming, and it terrifies him. He can't believe his own bluster when she's like this._

The only thing she could truly remember is that, whether because she tried to run or just stood still, the cracks did meet, and she did fall through. She remembered a Before, but the details of the Before were hazy at best. She remembered feeling, but what the feeling was or to whom it was attributed was scattered like the leaves in the wind. Trampled underfoot and crushed until she could no longer place what trees they came from.

Trampled underfoot and crushed. It felt like her. It was her.

"_Don't you see?" she whispers, her fingers curling to clutch desperately at his face. "It's already fallen."_


	7. Six: Close Your Eyes and Count

**What Babe?**

**Six: Close Your Eyes and Count…**

_Remember when you were little, and every time the Bad Things crept in all you had to do was close your eyes and count to thirteen?_

Her hands were stuffed deep into her pockets, her eyes locked on the trails of the robe of the person in front of her, and her feet were blessedly rooted on the tiled floor. The robe inched forward as the person moved with the line, and her feet took an automatic step to follow. A voice, vaguely familiar but oh so distant, chirped jovially from the front of the five, four, three people. Name, chipper greetings, here you go, see you tomorrow, robe moved, step after, repeat. Mechanical. Habitual.

It was a line she stood in, she was almost sure – though she couldn't remember why. She had been sitting by the window, looking out at the park and half-remembering things she knew were not true. Things she was sure _He_ had put there. She supposed when you couldn't reach the end of your story, when you couldn't tell the villain the defeating words that relinquished his power over you, the power remained and gave him free reign to alter your mind however he wanted.

It was his fault she was here, wasn't it?

Then the voice had called, and a hand on her arm had helped her up and led her to the line. Three, two, one person.

_Remember when you opened your eyes, and the Bad Things were gone, and Daddy was there to tell you it had only been a dream and you were fine – that they couldn't hurt you because they weren't real?_

The voice was Charlie. He smiled at her, she supposed a friendly gesture, but it only made her hands fist in her pockets – made her bitten nails dig into her palms in a stinging reminder that it was _Charlie_, and it was _His_ fault, and…

Her eyes landed on the little cup he was handing her, and the thought died. It wasn't _His_ fault, it was his. Two white pills glanced up at her from the little cup, and she remembered. She hadn't been so confused until he had forced her to take _them_. She remembered when she didn't. _He_ was the enemy, the one who had taken her brother and sent her back with the false memories and why, why, _why_ did her head hurt so much? Why did he have to make her think…why couldn't he just be happy that he won? Why do this to her as well?

"Sarah? You ok?" Charlie asked. She raised guarded eyes to him and nodded. He handed her the cup, smiling again. "All right. Bottom's up – they'll make you feel better, promise."

_Remember when he promised you'd be fine and you believed him because he was Always Right and would never ever lie to you anyway?_

She forced a smile and knocked the cup back, a bit of quick, fancy work stealthily snagging the pills before they could enter her mouth and hiding them in the folds of her too-baggy robe sleeves. She handed the empty cup back to Charlie, took the water, and made a show of swallowing. He smiled again, told her he'd see her later and have a good day, and she walked back to her window.

Down there, in the parking lot in front of the building, was her parent's car. Down there, right by the large maple that nearly hid the lamppost from view, _He_ stood and looked up at her with a sad little…no, no smile. A smirk, cocky and triumphant.

That was the Goblin King she knew, the Goblin King she was supposed to remember. Not the one of mornings of gold and valentine evenings. He was…he was…

She closed her eyes and counted to thirteen.


	8. Seven: Not Real

**What Babe?**

**Seven: Not Real**

The chair is stiff and cold. It's uncomfortable, even with her baggy clothes cushioning her from its hard edges. She shifts, trying to find a better position. Fails. Gives up and looks at the uncomfortable adults across from her.

Irene is pristine and perfect as always, but if she searches just long enough she can see the lines the makeup can't conceal anymore. Sadness etched deep into her face and eyes showing the lapse wrinkles in clothes never would. Next to her is Dad. He looks tired, the wear showing better on him than his trophy wife. Crumpled suit. Tired eyes as baggy as her sleeves. Hair tousled from the hand that runs through it too many times.

Her eyes are pulled to Irene's hands and the way they're wringing so nervously in her lap. Nervous energy. She makes Irene uncomfortable, just like her plastic chair. Irene won't look at her, and Dad can't seem to stop. Blame from both, portrayed differently, and…

…now she remembers why she was glad they had stopped coming to see her.

"Happy birthday, pumpkin," Dad finally says. She looks back at him, her movements sluggish as she tries to sort through the fog her mind's become. He's holding a box out to her. Birthday? "You're eighteen now – an adult! How's that feel?"

"Oh, Richard, stop it," Irene hisses. Maybe Irene thinks she's quiet enough she can't hear. "You're going to make her think of those dreadful doctors, and then she won't respond at all – you remember what happened last time!"

Dad falters a moment, almost looking chagrined at the reminder. She hopes he remembers. She certainly doesn't.

The paper is a rosy orange – peach-colored. It almost makes her recoil from the box, but she forces a smile and gingerly takes it from his hand. She shakes it slightly. It rattles. She shakes it again.

"Well, sweetie? Aren't you going to open it?" Irene asks, so she does. Tugs at the white ribbon. Peels the paper back. Lifts the lid. Drops the box.

She's shaking, but she can't place the strong rush of emotions surging through her. Fear? Maybe. Guilt? Oh, yes. She feels sick with it, and every tremor redoubles the nausea coursing through her.

Staring up at her from the peach-colored box, nestled in paper as white as the ribbon, is a figurine of Hoggle. Her friend. Hoggle. It's the bookend from her room, but it looks new. Pristine. Hoggle. How long has it been since she last saw her friend? Last called to him?

"_Yeah, should you need us…"_

She does. Oh, how she does. She tries to remember why she hasn't called him, and with the nausea comes the shame. Why would she? How could she put him through…but he's her friend, and he'd understand…but she…

She's gasping down breaths and trying not to scream as her hands grip her head and her nails dig into her skull. She rocks, trying to restore equilibrium, and through the haze she can hear Irene scolding Dad and Dad apologizing because he's sorry, so very sorry.

"Robert, how could you give her _that_? You know what Dr. Fisk said about encouraging the delusions!" Irene chides. Delusions? Hoggle's not…no…

_Goblins aren't real, goblins aren't real, goblins aren't real…_

"I didn't! That's not what…I don't know how that got in there!" Dad hisses, and she doesn't know if she screams before or after the arms wrap around her. A sharp sting, a burn, and it all swims as she falls.

"Hoggle…" she chokes, eyes slipping as arms pick her up again. "I need you…"


	9. Eight: Goblin King, Jareth

**What Babe?**

**Eight: Goblin King, Jareth**

Later that night, when They're asleep and most everyone else is, too, she sneaks out. She slips down to the lavatory at the middle of the hall, the one they let the not-so-dangerous ones go to unsupervised at night, and locks the door behind her. She's standing before a sink, eyes locked on her reflection, and for a moment she forgets her purpose.

She's changed so much. Her cheekbones are defined, her face sunken in and nearly hidden behind tangled, lank hair that's lost all its shine. Her skin is chalky and pale, but the sleeves of her nightshirt aren't long enough to cover the bruises from where she fell earlier, from where the needle pierced the skin. She's so thin – too thin, Irene keeps saying. Her clothes are baggy – she's had to drop at least a size.

Taking all this in only makes the guilt stronger, and she doubles over with it. Her hands clench the edges of the sink, holding on too tightly, and the first summons is a whispery, shaking request.

Nothing happens.

She glances up, glares at her eyes, and says only slightly louder, "Hoggle, I need you."

Thunder cracks, and she jumps – slips on the tiled floor. She falls, but she doesn't hit the ground – arms have reached out to catch her. She's gasping for breath from the fright and trying to remember how to thank her friend when he speaks and her heart stops all over. It's too late when she realizes Hoggle's arms are shorter, thicker, and not as…

"He's not coming, Sarah," the Goblin King. She would know that sin-smooth voice anywhere. Her heart leaps into her throat and the breaths won't come. She's clawing, her mouth working furiously in silent screams as she fights her captor. He won't let go – holds tighter, closer, head bowed by her shoulder and buried in that lank hair, whispers things she can't hear and doesn't know if she wants to all the same. She struggles. He holds fast. And suddenly, as if They've shot her again, she loses her fight and slumps against him.

She can't fight anymore. She's so tired from it all…

"He's not coming, Sarah," the Goblin King whispers again. His hand tightens on her arm, not strong enough to leave a bruise – or at least it wouldn't have been before. Now she's not as sure. "Do you think I would let him? Any of them?"

"My friends…" she whispers, and the Goblin King sucks in a breath. He's gone stock-still save for the hand gripping her arm too tightly – she knows she'll bruise.

"And look at how you react to me," he hisses. "You're a danger to yourself and others, Sarah. I will not risk my subjects around you. Not anymore."

"You have no –" she starts, but his laugh is sharp and cold as flint – cruel. It stops her short.

"Power over you? Say in the matter? But I'm afraid I do, Sarah mine," he says. He pulls her closer, and she notices he's shaking. Strange. "You gave that power over willingly. Don't you remember?"

It's fuzzy, foggy, her mind. She doesn't remember much these days. She knows he's evil, the villain, and she…

"_I'm scared one day I won't wake up…"_

"_Goblin King! How dare you –!"_

"_Sarah, stop –!"_

Breathing hurts.

"_Didymus, get back –!"_

"_Stop defending him! Stop it!"_

"_MY LADY!"_

Thinking hurts.

"…_or I will and will only remember you as the villain…"_

Remembering is worse.

"Come back to me, Sarah mine," the voice is soft and pleading, ghosting over her like an old friend, old l…old…old…

…Jareth?

"Please, precious," he whispers again, and she shivers as she feels the lips ghosting over her neck. "I can't stand to see you like this. I can't stand playing the villain again, keeping your friends from you…I can't stand knowing you'll fight me if I let you go even a fraction. I miss you, love."

Love?

Love…

"_What will happen to us, Jareth?" she asked as he spun her. He was humming with the song, not actually paying much attention to her – or so she thought. She bumped her shoulder against his, and he hushed her._

"_Not now, Sarah mine," he said. "I'm dancing with my future queen. Let me enjoy the moment – it's so rare she actually lets me dance with her, even if it is to these paltry Above songs."_

"_Jareth," she laughed, and he took the opportunity to steal a kiss. It was quick and short, and he ended it by pecking her nose, and she laughed again._

"_Eighteen, I think," he said after a long moment where he held her tight. She felt safe, wanted, loved. "Yes, eighteen should suffice. Would your parents protest much to a…what do you Abovegrounders call it? A 'shotgun wedding'?"_

"_I'd have to be pregnant for that," she chided, and he gave her a wolfish grin._

"_That can be arranged, precious," he murmured, and she didn't know how to react, so she buried her head in his shoulder as he laughed. He kissed the crown of her head and sighed as he rested his cheek against her hair. "No, I wouldn't do that – we've already discussed the matter. But I would prefer to have you as my queen sooner rather than later. Would you protest to eighteen?"_

"_People have married younger," she quipped, and the thought secretly thrilled her. He hummed in agreement as the song changed, and they transitioned seamlessly into a slow waltz. Her heart swelled the longer she considered the idea, being married to this man – this Fae king – and she leaned up to place a soft kiss on the underside of his jaw._

"_Sarah mine?" he asked, and she nuzzled her head against his neck._

"_Eighteen sounds good," she said. "Jareth, I love you."_

"_And I you, precious," he murmured, squeezing her. "And I you."_

No, no, no – none of it's real, none at all. There is no Jareth – only the Goblin King, the villain of her tale, and she…she…

She screams, and when he covers her mouth she bites him to scream some more. Fights, struggles, _must get away…_

He turns her roughly, pushes her against the wall, holds onto her shoulders and the look on his face is murderous. The cold fury of the Goblin King, not the enamored, adoring gaze of Jar…

"Sarah," he hisses. Her breathing is ragged, heaving, and she stares back at him like he's…he's…

Beneath her.

"Sarah, stop it," he hisses, and her struggles – against every voice, warning bell screaming in her mind – do. He leans forward, forehead presses to hers, and she notices his breathing is as ragged as her own. Why? Why does he care so much? Why…it's not real…just another peach dream…just another…no…

"Sarah mine, come back to me," he whispers. Fury floods her, and she hopes her eyes are as hate-filled as she feels as she glares at him.

"You have no power over me," she bites, voice acid, and he sighs. Leans closer, too close, and her insides churn as he kisses her – but it's soft, sweet, too sweet, like he's done this time and again and a part of her thrills with it and she –

"But I do," he whispers against her lips, and she's dazed as she stares at him. She's so tired, so confused. She's eighteen now – wasn't he supposed to take her away from all of this? "I have every power over you."


	10. Nine: Stop Caring

**What Babe?**

**Nine: Stop Caring**

_and it's amazing, with the look in your eyes_

_like you could save me, but you won't even try…_

_i saw – matt nathanson_

She didn't sleep that night.

Or the next.

Or the next.

She didn't sleep for a very long time, save the moments she could no longer fight the call and found herself nodding out regardless. She couldn't say exactly how long had been exactly, as she had lost count of her days long ago, but it felt like forever.

Not long at all, she'd once been told.

Not long at all, Irene and Dad proved when they came a week later.

She was back in that chair, sitting across from them and barely conscious. They looked distressed. Dad always did those days, but it was even showing on Irene. Strange.

"Sarah, we spoke to Jay," Dad said, and the name plucked at her mind. Jay? But wasn't…

"_It's your cousin – remember Jay, your cousin?"_

But he wasn't.

"_You're too late, Sarah mine, and now your precious brother is mine. Forever."_

He wasn't anyone she wanted anywhere near.

_Safe. Wanted. Loved. Hold me closer, tighter, don't let me fall…_

No, no, no – he stole her brother, and that was the truth. That was what mattered. Not the fairytale daydreams of a delusional child who thought a Goblin King could be a romantic hero.

He was the villain. Always the villain.

"_I can't stand playing the villain again…"_

"He said he came to see you. I don't know why – I've told that boy to move on. It's not like it's healthy wasting his time waiting for you like this. You obviously have no interest in recovering," Irene said harshly, and Dad hissed her name. She snorted, an unladylike gesture, and crossed her arms over her chest before looking away. "Well, look at her, Robert. It's obviously true. You need to move on, Sarah – we all have. He was my son, not yours. I've never once blamed you for what happened, yet you still walk around like –"

"It is my fault," she whispered, and Irene and Dad froze at the words. She knew they hadn't heard her speak in…she didn't know how long. "I wished Toby away. I failed the Labyrinth. I lost him to the Goblin King."

"Sarah…" Dad whispered, and his voice was strangled as Irene choked back a scream. She didn't look up at them.

"Enough of this, Sarah! You're too old for fairy stories – and look at what you're putting poor Jay through! That boy was willing to marry you – he probably still is, even after all this!" Irene cried, but still she wouldn't look at her.

"The Goblin King never wanted to marry me," she said. "It was all a lie."

"Not…Sarah, honey, Jay isn't the Gob…the Goblin King," Dad said, reaching out to place a hand on her knee. She was too still. He didn't like it.

"If you moved on, why don't you?" she asked, and it was strange, the way Dad's hand gripped her knee. Almost as hard as…

_Lips, crashing onto hers in a terrified fury. Don't defy me. Don't tell me it's not my fault. Don't leave me…_

"Move on already. I'm eighteen. You don't need to worry about me anymore," she said, voice dull and monotone. Robotic. Lifeless.

"Sarah, honey, don't say that," Dad croaked, and his hand had started shaking. Her eyes land on the glint of his wedding ring. The shine wasn't enough to connect her to anything anymore.

"Stop caring already," she whispered. "She has."

"That's not true, Sarah," Irene tried to argue.

"She wouldn't get so upset if she didn't care, honey," Dad said, but she was already withdrawing into herself. Away from them, the pain, the peach memories. Away from it all.

_Just stop caring already…_


	11. Ten: Disconnect

**What Babe?**

**Ten: Disconnect**

They don't visit again after that.

No one does.

_One by one, the pieces fall away until there's nothing left. A disconnect, a break in the line, cracks in the real. Shattered, shatters, shattering. Gone._

It started with her friends, when they stopped…

It continued with the Goblin King, no more visits to taunt or…

It ends with Irene and Dad.

But that one…that one is her fault. She is the one who asked them to stop, after all.

_They don't visit again._

She can't blame them. Can't find it in herself to.

_Disconnect._

Most days she can't remember why she should.

_Toby._

The rest she just doesn't want to.


	12. Eleven: Stasis

**Note:** Y'know, I love older music as much as I love newer music – I love a lot of music. It shouldn't be _that_ hard to include lyrics from a song that came out in my set timeline, should it? (This time featured lyrics – the italic sections in this segment – are from He Is We's "A Mess It Grows".)

**What Babe?**

**Eleven: Stasis**

She used to be so good at pretending. She still is.

_You're love-drunk, you're blinded._

It's in her blood, you know. She has a famous mother, an actress, and despite what they say sometimes talent – or at least a penchant – can be inherited. She used to spend hours in the park, playing out the stories her parents would read her. When her parents divorced, and especially after her father remarried, that park practically became her home. She lived in two worlds most times, the real and the make-believe. She was a child of imagination who toed the line until it blurred.

Maybe that's what led her here, in the end. If you ask her stepmother (because you can never reach her mother these days – the famous actress is too shamed by her schizophrenic daughter, I suppose), Irene will say it was the death of her brother. It took the lean towards fantasy that had always been there and pushed it over the edge. If you ask her father, Robert says it was a good year before the boy's death. She had started slipping well before, when she would prance around their backyard singing songs of goblins and their terrible king.

She doesn't sing anymore. She doesn't even talk, except on those rare occasions when someone can pull her out of her mind. It's been weeks, though. She hasn't spoken since just after her eighteenth birthday.

_You've lost the ones who love you most._

That was the last time Robert and Irene came to see her, too. Word has it they're moving South, back to North Carolina where Irene's family is. Robert probably wanted to take her with him, but after her last outburst Irene most likely refused. It's better for her, anyway, staying established. It's still a shame. Most people fare better when they have someone to connect to.

There was even that boy, Jay. Her cousin, according to the family, but the way he acted around her was unusual for cousins. Her stepmother just said they had been close – practically inseparable. But the last time, the only time, he came to visit, she…didn't take it well. Accused him of being the Goblin King of her delusions. Accused him of stealing her brother. Accused him of…

He hasn't been around lately, either.

Actually, she hasn't had a visitor for quite some time. Since…goodness, it's been months. Not since her birthday. Maybe that's why she just sits there most days, staring out that window.

_This liar's on fire…_

Charlie still tries to connect with her. He talks to her when he gives her her medicine, when he sees her in that chair, when someone's brought her into the garden. Every time he sees her, he has a kind word to say.

She never returns it, though. Her doctor's starting to worry. Most patients reach a stasis or improve. Few deteriorate as quickly as she is.

_Melted like wax, a mess it grows._

She's getting worse. When she first came here, everyone thought she'd be one that would be out quickly. Maybe a few weeks – a month, tops – and she would be back home, maybe not well-adjusted but on her way to healing. The longer she stayed, the more that hope was lost.

Few believe she'll ever leave now. Not with the way she just sits there and stares. Not with the way she doesn't respond. Her doctor rarely sees her anymore, but what's the point? She won't answer her, even if she does. Most of her doctor's visits are spent in five-minute intervals by that chair, asking questions that don't receive answers. Making comments that don't stir a reaction.

_And you're the one that chose…_

But she's doing it to herself, so no one really sympathizes anymore. She's the one who won't face reality. At least with the crazier ones there's a legitimate mental disorder. She just doesn't want to accept what happens, and they call in her schizophrenia what they call stubbornness in you.

Too long playing make-believe, perhaps. When you toe the line between reality so fluidly, perhaps this is all that you can expect. All you end up deserving.

(And do you believe that in the end, really? Or does the alternative just make you too sad and uncomfortable to admit?)

…_and that's just how karma goes._


	13. Twelve: Egress

**Note:** When I started this, I swear to Chuck it was a one-shot. I had no real plans for it. I was just going where the story led, and I think it's lead me here. Thirteen seems like a good number, given the fandom, and it feels like it's drawing to a close. I'm starting this segment with the intent that it will be the final one.

There may or may not be a sequel. I have ideas, but if I write them out it will most likely be in the 'proper story format' I so blatantly ignored with this one. (Hey, I said it was an experiment at the start – if you've stuck with me 'til now, thank you so much. You guys are troopers.) Also keep in mind that I'm a college student – I started this story back in. . .oh, wow. I want to say August 2010. I'm only just now finishing/posting (August 2011 as I write this) because of school and life. I've gotten into the practice of posting a chapter story only after it's finished, as I like to know I can definitely tell the readers there is an 'end', so updates for things like this take me a while.

Long in short: There may or may not be a sequel, but if there is it will most likely be a long time coming. To everyone who's read this, and especially if you've enjoyed it, thank you so much. I'd be writing even if the story just sat festering in a notebook, but hearing your feedback always makes the process a bit sweeter.

'Til the shout,

Ver

**What Babe?**

**Twelve: Egress**

In the morning, someone arrives at her door. Knocks. Enters. Brings her out to the common room. She sits in her chair by the window, looking out over the parking lot where the cars come and go too infrequently until Charlie comes over with the pills. At lights out, someone comes and escorts her back to her room. She thinks she sleeps. She's not too sure anymore. Consciousness blurs with the un, and she can't be certain of much anymore.

She doesn't remember how long it's been like this. Since her birthday, she thinks, but who knows how long ago that was. She's too tired to keep track anymore.

She's taken to sleepwalking or nightly strolls or whatever they could be called. If she avoids the orderlies, she's fine. Even if she runs into them they don't care – know she's harmless. And it's a quiet song, a little niggling of something forgotten, that leads her most nights – tonight. To that door in the hall that should have been locked. It usually is.

Not tonight.

Someone's messed up, just like she did the night…

_He's just a crying baby – can't help it, really, and she wouldn't be surprised if he was ill on top of it all – but she's young and frustrated with a headache to boot, and she just can't take it anymore._

_It was just a careless wish, careless words tossed out in a fit of selfishness and spite. She never expected anyone to answer. She never expected any of it to be real (even when every fiber in her being screamed that it always had been, always would be)._

_She did this. She's to blame, no matter what they say, and looking down at the empty crib…_

But her head swims, because for the first time in months the lies aren't good enough anymore. Lies? No. Not lies. He's the lie, he's the…

Peach dreams swim in her mind as she opens the door, climbs the steps. Peach dreams painting mornings of gold and valentine evenings, and she…

She lost the Labyrinth, didn't she? Lost Toby?

_She doesn't understand. He was right there, on the blanket, with Jareth's crystals forming a cage-like spell to keep him safe inside. Where could he have gone? Why isn't he there? Why…why…_

_She sees it, then: one of the crystals, moved just the slightest. Just enough to let Toby out._

_The goblins have grown silent. Jareth is beside her, reassuring her – they will find him. He's just a babe; surely he could not have gone far? All will be well. They'll –_

_The screech of tires and the wailing of a horn stop her world._

_She's running without making a conscious decision to do so; out of the backyard, around the house, to the street. To the sporty red car with the boy not much older than her stepping out from behind the wheel. She sees the crumpled heap, and someone's screaming. Is it her?_

It's too much exertion when she's been still so long – too long. The climb makes her dizzy, but as her head swims she pushes further. Climbs higher. Step, step, step. Reaches a landing, sees the darkened hall in the rectangle of glass and hears the screams of the worst patients beyond, and keeps climbing.

Her mind isn't working right. That wasn't what happened. She lost the Labyrinth, the Goblin King is her enemy, and Toby…her brother is a goblin, safe in his kingdom. A goblin, but alive.

Isn't he?

_Blood flows, painting her in a macabre red as she holds his little body close. No, no, no, no, no…_

_She doesn't hear Jareth until he's kneeling beside her, a shaking gloved hand reaching out, paused by the blonde curls matted with…oh, God, no…_

_But she remembers. He told her, so long ago, what happens with the children he keeps. He'll only turn them goblin when there's no other way, when they'll die without the magic. He can save him, and the desperation and request are clear in her eyes as she looks up at him. His eyes are wide, the pupils dilated to where they're almost matching. He looks so pale, as if he's going into shock._

"_Save him," she says, and it's not a wish. Not a request. She commands it – orders it. Demands. Her arms are steady as she holds the body out to the Goblin King. She knows he can do this, has every confidence in her beloved king. His gaze is torn from the babe, settles on her…and he looks terrified. It's an emotion she's never seen him display before, and one that she thinks she could have lived forever without seeing. Fear does not suit the Goblin King at all._

"_I can't," he says, and the words are choked from his mouth. Like he can't say them; like he doesn't want to. Like it's admitting a weakness, a defeat, and he hates it so very, very much._

"_Liar! You said…you said you turn them! When there's no other way, you turn them – turn him! Turn him, Jareth, before…before…oh, God…" she gasps. She looks down at Toby, and he's so mangled and…and… "I'd rather him survive as a goblin than…"_

"_Sarah, I…I can't save what's already lost," he whispers. "I have great power, but even I am limited…"_

Another landing, but this time the door's on the opposite wall. Stars beyond.

"_I move the stars for no one…"_

"_I have turned the world upside down, and I have done it all for you!"_

She gasps down air and pushes the door open. Stumbles into the cool night. She shouldn't be out here – they'll panic when they discover her missing. But she can't think, can't…can't…her mind is swimming with falsities and half-truths, and she feels like she'll be ill with it. In her mind she sees her brother, but she can't remember what's happened to him. She's confused, so confused, and her head aches.

Her eyes open blearily, and she sees the sky. The roof. She's on the roof. It's covered in gravel, and it crunches as she sinks to her knees and watches the stars. What happened? What happened all that time ago, after she had run the Labyrinth and returned Above? Why was it so foggy? So…

In her heart, in the deepest, darkest place of her mind, a little voice whispers that she knows. She just doesn't like what's there – doesn't want to accept it. Because if she accepts it…if she admits it, even to herself…

"_You can reorder time – you can take us back, to when…or slow, so he'll…you…you _have_ to, Jareth. He can't…he can't…" her words are tumbling out in a confused heap, and she's so scared and hurt and why won't he save him? Why is he going to let her brother d…d…_

"_Sarah, my power is limited in your world. I cannot control the time Above," he whispers, his voice strained and flat. "He's gone, Sarah. I cannot reorder time to save him, and it's too late to turn him. I'm…I'm so sorry, precious th-"_

_He's reached out to touch her, to brush her hair away from her face, but she screams and slaps him away. No, no, no, no, no…this can't be happening, it can't! Toby is…Toby is…no, no, no…_

_He had told her what happens to the children he keeps, the ones who are too far beyond repair to survive any other way besides magic. He's never told her what happens when even that's not enough._

But…no. That wasn't what had happened at all, was it?

She pushes herself up, steady for the first time in oh so long, and glares at the end of the roof. The gravel crunches under her bare feet as she walks, but the pebbles are smooth and don't bite her skin the way her mind bites at her.

There was no accident. She had lost. Toby was still safe, a goblin in the Underground, and Jareth…the _Goblin King_...

"Goblin King, Goblin King, wherever you may be…" she whispers, looking down over the lip of the roof and into the lit parking lot below. The hoot of an owl carries on the whipping breeze, and she thinks she hears the fluttering of a cape behind her.

But no, because that would be impossible. Goblins do not exist, after all, and neither do their kings. It's simply an old nursery rhyme, pretty words used to scare children into behaving. Just words.

Just the right words.

"…take this memory of mine far away from me," she breathes, and her eyes slide close as she…

…lets go.


End file.
